


Underestimated

by Nymphadora23



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Breaking and Entering, M/M, a broken nose too idk if that counts as graphic, france being a badass, there's also an unnamed man there but y'know, there's like vague mentions of violence but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadora23/pseuds/Nymphadora23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was an empire, his <em>rival</em> he reminded himself. He had taken colonies and gone toe to toe with Arthur more times than he could count, even won over him. Empires were not weaklings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underestimated

The crash should have been his first red flag. 

It had managed to rouse Arthur from his slumber, bleary gaze staring into the darkness. It took him a moment to register the fact that he was awake, the last few seconds of his last dream playing on a loop in his head. Something sounded like it had fallen, somewhere far into the house. But what?

Arthur squinted at the clock and groaned in annoyance. It was four o'clock in the morning and the last thing he wanted to do was to leave the warm confines of his bed to figure out what had fallen. Maybe he should have, it could have been a burglar for all he knew. But as seconds turned to minutes, no other noise followed. No footsteps, no shuffling. The crash was probably one of their cats, knocking something over on their prowls.

With a dissatisfied grunt, he rolled onto his side, hands inching to the other side of his bed where Francis was asleep. Though he never dared to admit it (it would be a serious wound to his pride and a serious inflation of Francis’s ego), sharing a bed with Francis and snuggling him was something that never failed to let him rest easy. Yet as he attempted to pull himself closer to the other body, he found there to be no body to grab. His eyes opened once more to squint at the offending space as if staring long enough would reveal Francis to him. Of course, this was not the case.

A little more awake and now a bit miffed, he rolled back over and confirmed that it was indeed four in the morning. Francis should long be in bed by now; even when the other had a few too many to drink he was normally staggering into bed by at least two. So where was he, if not here? He rolled back to face Francis’s side of the bed, squinting through the darkness to his bedside table and -- ah, yes. His ashtray was gone. Francis must have gone out to the balcony to smoke and think, which could only mean two things: he was still doing that or he had fallen asleep out there like the idiot he was. If he had done the latter again, Arthur was going to seriously consider locking that damn balcony door. 

But, all the same, he would be fine. If anything, he would just have to deal with a very sore and moody Francis in the morning which, while annoying, was manageable. Besides, it served him right for being out there and being too thickheaded to come back inside like a sensible person. Arthur ignored the small voice in his head as he shut his eyes that reminded him that, usually when Francis fell asleep, it was because he was deeply troubled by something. Arthur dealt with that with small gestures, reaffirmation that he was indeed there and did indeed desire him. Sonnets usually soothed him and Arthur had plenty to recite for him. 

Minutes passed where the only sounds were the faint ticking of his watch and his own steady breathing. He had shut his eyes, letting his breathing deepen to try and lull himself back to sleep. 

He was almost successful in falling back into the world of sleep before a yell of pain permeated the quiet room. Francis’s yell. 

He sat up with a start, mind already dutifully supplying him with all sorts of lovely scenarios of what could have caused that scream. Francis being stabbed over and over, being shot, being tortured, the list grew on into the irrational quite quickly. His mind reeled and lurched as panic seized, and for a moment, he didn’t move. But just as quickly as it had come it was receding and cold logic took over, propelling his body to move. 

Without noise he rose from the bed, his hand sinking into the depths of his bedside drawer to pull out his pistol. Arthur was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland, for god’s sake, and no one dared mess with _his_ loved ones, especially not the man he had grown to care for more than he could admit to himself. Francis was Francis, too good and undeserving of whatever menace was making him scream. With weapon in hand Arthur crept down the stairs, his heart beating loud enough he swore he would be heard. His gut clenched with fear of what he would find around the corner and no thought permeated him, all instincts and deadly tension.

When he finally did come around the corner to the downstairs, he did not expect the sight he saw.

Francis was alive (he could feel his heart sink in relief) and had his back to him, obscuring his expression. Arthur could tell that he had gotten dressed since he had woken up as he was wearing notably more than what he normally slept in. The shirt he wore had wrinkles and his hair looked messed up, but the most jarring thing was the face of the man Francis was currently slamming his fist into. 

He must have said something because Francis looked up and now Arthur could see where that pained yell had come from. Though he was certainly not as battered as the man he currently held by the collar, his nose was noticeably swollen and crooked, blood flecking his face and shirt. He also had a bruise blossoming on his left cheek, pink and fresh and it will certainly look ugly when it comes to fruition. 

“Arthur.” Francis breathed, immediately dropping the man. The man let out a groan as he hit the floor and didn’t bother to stand as Francis made his way over to him. Arthur found he could only stare in disbelief at him, mind shorting out a bit.

There was one thing ringing clear to him, however. He hadn’t expected Francis to be up and fighting. He had expected him to be at his attacker’s mercy, getting pummeled before Arthur inevitably rescued him. Really, how silly was that? But that was simply a result of their centuries of rivalry; sometimes it was hard to reconcile all of the hatred he poured into his image of Francis and the way the man actually was. 

He was not a coward. He was an _empire_ , his _rival_ for chrissakes. Francis had conquered territories and gone toe to toe with Arthur more times than he could count, even winning over him. Empires couldn’t be weak, it wasn’t in their blood.

Francis was staring at him, delicate brows furrowing and cerulean gaze probing him. Arthur could see the gears turning in his head, trying to gauge what Arthur was thinking. Arthur stared back, unsure what he could really say in a moment like this. So he chose nothing, reaching up instead to pop Francis’s nose back into place.

The other man flinched, rubbing the tender area that was already beginning to smooth and return to normal. One of the luxuries of being a nation, Arthur supposed, a luxury over excitable nations like America and Prussia milked for all it was worth. He himself also rubbed over the raised skin, tenderly massaging it as words found him again. “You sure did a number on him, Frog.” He said offhandedly, almost casually as his gaze met his.

Francis laughed, rich and full sounding, laying his forehead on Arthur’s. “He tried to get the jump on me when I had my guard lowered.” He supplied as an explanation, then frowned as he wiped at the drying blood on his face. “And he ruined my shirt.” Came the afterthought, his lips pulling into an almost pout.

Arthur shook his head, poorly suppressing a smirk of amusement. “You care too much about those clothes of yours.” He quipped. Maybe it was from the relief that Francis was no worse for wear or the fact that he was still hyped on adrenaline, but he felt an odd surge of affection for him. Looking back, he'd realize it was Francis showing the side not many pondered about and the fact that he was one of the few who would bear witness to it. It was all for him. 

Francis had let out an exasperated huff at that but didn't move back from their embrace, laying a sweet kiss on his lips. As Arthur rose to reciprocate, his suspicions proved correct: Francis tasted like nicotine and his favourite brand of wine. 

Another pained groan from the incapacitated man broke them apart, reminding them of their company. Francis looked down at the man and frowned, nudging the barely conscious body with an apathetic foot. “Should I call the police?” He queried, lips pulled into a tight frown.

Arthur was really not in the mood to deal with the French police, so now it was his turn to pick the man up by the scruff of his shirt. “I think he’s learned his lesson, haven’t you old friend?” 

When Arthur could see a noticeable nod, he decided that the man would be fine getting back to whatever hellhole he had crawled out of. Without further fanfare, the man was unceremoniously chucked out into the night and left to limp back home. Arthur then closed and locked the door, rattling it for good measure to make sure it stayed locked this time. Francis joined him at his side and leaned his head on his shoulder, an invitation for Arthur to wrap a comforting arm around him.

They stood like that for a moment, comforted by each other’s presence as they watched the moonlight trickle in through the door’s window. But soon Arthur caught sight of the time and decided that it was much too late to be doing this sort of thing. With a tug he led Francis up the stairs, keeping an arm wrapped around the other’s slender waist. Soon they reached the room and collapsed into bed, Francis tucked comfortably into Arthur’s side while the latter stroked his silky tresses. 

“Hmmm, I like this.” Francis declared, voice a comfortable vibration against his shoulder. “You snuggling me like this. I should get attacked by humans more often.” Arthur scoffed, the arm that was wrapped around Francis squeezing him slightly. “Next time I’m leaving you to the humans then.”

But as Francis huffed and settled in more snugly, Arthur knew he wouldn’t. He’d still rush to his aid, even if Francis could fend for himself. After all, Francis was his; Arthur didn’t take too kindly to hooligans roughing up his lover. And if it happened again, well… Arthur would just have to wake up earlier next time. The man would have gotten it twice as hard had Arthur had his share. But that was a time for another day and Arthur forgot it for the meantime, drifting off to the sound of Francis’s breathing. 

Francis wasn’t a coward, but Arthur would protect him all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> So this basically spawned out of nowhere along with a few other ficlet ideas and I just had to write it out. I'm not sure how well my own editing is so if there are mistakes please do point them out. This probably won't be the last fic out of me if my inspiration holds so look out for some more!


End file.
